"So, ladies and gentleman,"
Feste shouted, bowing deeply.
"We are nearing the end of this glorious farce.
But before the final applause fades, I have one last joke up my sleeve".
He straightened.
His red eyes glimmered in the dim glow of the oil lamps, scanning the assembly: fairytale dressed henchmen, faces marred with murderous intent, and prostitutes seated like court ladies on their thrones.
In a voice soft as velvet yet sharp as a dagger, he whispered:
"What is the difference between a fool and a king"
Silence.
Heavy, tenes, like the air before a thunderstorm.
The man they called Godfather rose.
His presence was like a statue carved from sin: broad, flawlessyl dressed, a smile that felt like a curse.
"And fool?"
he said, his voice dripping with amusemet.
"What is the difference?"
Feste grinned.
Then he laughed.
Loud.
Louder than was proper.
Not delicate.
Not noble.
Not fitting.
Tears streamed down his cheeks. He gasped, bend slightly, wiped his face.
"Hahahaha...
forgive my rude behavoir,"
he said.
"The difference is:
the knows he is playing."
For a moment, everything frozen.
A court trapped in a rhythm no one dared to breath.
Then the first "Boo." Followed by another.
Like fire catching sparks, it spread.
The first tomato flew.
Feste dodged.
Then the second.
The third. With a leap, a spin, a daring bow, he evaded, and the crowd laughed again.
How comical it was, the little fool dancing with serious eyes between favor and poison.
But he could no dodge forever.
A tomato struck him.
Then another.
His garment was now more pulp than cloth.
The people roared.
Even the Godfather laughed.
Twenty mins later, the court was emptier, the lamps flickering faintly.
Feste stepped forward, his face sticky, his voice small.
"And Godfather... how much do i get today"
The Godfather turned to him.
"Your last joke was bad," he said.
"Today you get two copper coins."
Feste sank to his knees.
The tomato remains slid down his cheeks, mingling with tears.
This time, nothing was feigned.
"Please... give me three.
Just three.
I need a loaf of bread."
The Godfather knelt beside him.
His hand rested like a heavy prayer on Feste's shoulder.
"I can find your another job,"
he whispered.
"One where you earn a whole silver coin."
Feste looked up.
His red eyes were empty, like a believer after losing his god.
"Yes..., yes... a silver coin."
The Godfather drew a knife, letting it stroke Feste's cheek.
"You are young.
Not yet a man.
And with these long lashes, these eyes... you will do well."
Feste said nothing. But he stod. And followed.
They walked through alleys where even rats no longer dared to show themselves.
The stench was ancient and alive at once.
In front of a brightly lit building, they stopped.
Music pounded against the walls. Inside, chaos. And sin.
They entered. Feste blinked. What he saw was no brothel. It was another world. Here, being human had no meaning.
Bodies everywhere.
Bent,
broken,
used.
Voice's screamed, begged, laughed. A woman, nothing more than skin and bones, was taken in every way at once. Her eyes empty.
Her soul gone.
The Godfather placed hand on Feste's shoulder.
"Do you want to work as a prostitute here?"
Feste stepped back.
"No"
"Stop!" the Godfather roared.
"You stay.
One night.
Do what you must to survive."
Then he left.
Shadows remained.
And a man, naked, large.
His skin greasy, his gaze like a knife.
Feste ran.
He found a room.
Locked it.
Drew back into a corner.
His hear pounded.
In his head, the echo of ridicule.
And death.
"What should i do?" he whispered
"A joke? A murder? Everything here stinks. Even the corpses still smile"
Knock.
"Open the door."
Feste, recognozed the voice.
His eyes fell on something sharp.
A broken coat hook.
Rusty.
But sharp.
He opened the door slowly.
Then struck.
The man gasped.
Blood spurted.
Feste struck again.
And again.
His face was cold.
His hands no longer trembled, and he laughed.
"Knock, knock..."
The man fall to the floor, whimpering.
Feste continued his joke, laughing.
"Who's there?"
Feste bent over.
His voice a song of madness.
"Your death."
Then he went onto the balcony.
The night was silent.
His clothe's stuck to him with blood and tomato.
The smell of joke and madness.
He looked up.
The sky was clear.
The stars distant.
And inside him, questions.
Too many to ask.
To heavy to bear.